How To Save A Life
by Peaky
Summary: Luby set around and about season 10, before Sam happened and after Carter did. Quite dark. No real spoilers. Probably a one shot. Hope you enjoy!


This is for Ella, who called me up and said, 'Elissa. You need to write something soon, because you haven't in a while, and well...you just need to.' So Ella, here it is. Also for Laura and her Rock, Nigel, who never fail to hit on me! Thank you to my biggest fan Ruby for the beta...volim te.

It also needs to be known that I profess that every great author needs cocopop straws...and coffee, lots and lots of coffee!

DISCLAIMER:- I do not own any of the characters from ER and make no profit from writing these stories. Nor do I own the song that the title comes from...that is completely the property of The Fray...very good band mind you!

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How To Save A Life

He has that look about him again; that one that isn't quite loneliness, not quite sadness. It's in his gait; the way he carries himself down the corridors, the way he looks like he is trying to concentrate but not quite pulling it off - because there is something else constantly on his mind. He still smiles all the time; a smile that is knowing but not quite happy- a smile that doesn't quite meet his eyes - but is infectious anyway; a smile that sometimes you wish you could just wipe of his face - because really you know that he doesn't want to smile. Not at all.

You watch him periodically; you always have done, since it was expected of you and even now when it's not.

You know that he welcomes the spring; in that first week when it is still chilly but the sun is shining and you bring out the lighter jackets. He seems to have a burst of good spirit and energy. He smiles a smile that reaches his eyes, comes in early, and doesn't look hung over half as much.

You know that he dreads Christmas and that his depression sets in early because he is waiting for it to arrive with the season. He slows down, comes in late and sometimes wears the same shirt two days in a row because he can't bring himself to go home and be totally alone.

Now he has _this _look, the look that comes some time between springtime and wintertime. The one that means he is lost and he wants to give up looking for himself. It' sort of worse this look; because you can openly know that Christmas is hard for him and even though you know that he is a good person that shouldn't have to go through any depression at all, it is understandable. He misses his children and that is okay. You know that he will make it through Christmas to the spring. You don't know what to do about this look and you don't actually know with certainty that he _will _make it through this. That's why this look is scarier for you. Why even though when you look at him at Christmas time and you ache for him and wish you could make it go away for him; when you look at him with _this_ look it is painful and makes you want to cry like you have been punched in the gut.

You think that it is quite possibly one of the scariest things you have seen in your thirty-four years. Scarier than when you were ten years old and your mother chased you around the house with a kitchen knife. Scarier than when, at age thirty, you packed Richard's bags for him and finally told him to leave, even though you had loved him like no one else since you were eighteen years old. Even scarier than when you walked away with a muttered _fine _when the man in question told you Carter could have you at age thirty two. Scarier than when you realised three weeks later that it had been the biggest mistake of your life, and even scarier than getting through the last two years without him.

A week later you realise that nothing is changing about him. You have been watching him, monitoring him almost. He still seems distracted and is still smiling in that way that gets a smile from everyone around him, but you know it doesn't even really register with him. You realise that you would sell your soul to the devil, if the opportunity presented itself, just to see him smile a real smile; for him to be focused and ruthless in his work, like you know he can be. You decide that you will talk to him, maybe you can help, make him realise that he shouldn't ever stop looking for himself because he is beautiful. _In fact_, you think, _maybe you can help discover each other. _

You try to talk to him several times over the next week- and every time you lose your nerve. You don't know what is wrong with you; you are allowed to talk to your friends aren't you? Therein lies that problem: in your mind you are not just talking to a friend. In your mind you are approaching someone you love from afar about your growing concern for him. For the next week you successfully avoid him- only to have him invade your every waking thought. You drink your coffee with him on your mind and you travel to work with him on your mind, you go to bed with him on your mind and then start the next day in the same fashion- it's beginning to drive you crazy!

You are spending the night at home and you had a bath with lots of bubble bath and candles and cursed yourself for being a coward. Then you slipped into your robe and sat on the sofa flicking through the television finally settling on the news in the hope that someone else's misery will distract you from his. As it happens you sit and stare at the television screen thinking about him over the chatter of the news presenter.

You go into the kitchen and pull the cork out of the bottle of wine you kept around just to prove you could fight this urge. You pour a glass thinking that you should just face the fact that you are not a very strong person and then head back to the sofa, glass in hand.

There is a knock on the door and it makes you jump. _It's ten thirty. Why would anybody come around at ten thirty? _You think as you set the glass down on the coffee table. You tighten your robe around your body as you make your way to the door, looking through the peephole you gasp and involuntarily step back in shock that he is here and at his dishevelled appearance. Slowly you start to unfasten the many safety locks on your door.

"Luka, what are you doing here?" You ask him when you finally open the door to him.

"Abby...Hi. Hi." He says whilst wringing his hands and nodding his head.

"Hey," You say and step aside to let him through the door, "you want to come in?"

He does and he automatically makes his way over to the sofa. He notices your glass of wine on the table and asks, "You drinking? I could join you."

As you walk past his to guiltily remove your glass, you smell the booze on him. You think that maybe now is the perfect time to begin this helping process you have been obsessing over.

"No. Not really. It's probably not a great idea." You walk to the sink with the glass and pour that and the rest of the bottle down the sink. You keep your mind on the man in your apartment all the time to try and stop yourself from thinking about the fact that your hands are shaking as you tip away your vice.

"So, Luka…what brings you here?" you ask when you turn around to face him again.

He hasn't sat down and is just stood in the middle of your living room looking so utterly and completely lost, that it just about makes your heart break. You decide in a sudden instance of spontaneity that now is where you will turn over a new leaf. You will become strong. You unconsciously just took the first step by tipping the wine down the sink; now you will talk to Luka and make your way over to him.

"Actually…I…uh…I have been wanting…to…to talk to you. For a while, I mean. This week…I…uh…I was thinking…" _Oh god Abby this isn't supposed to be so hard _you think. _Form a coherent sentence for God's sake!_

"You were thinking…?" He breaks through your thoughts with the question and you look up to meet sad eyes with sad eyes.

"Yeah…I was…thinking…about you. I…was worried…about you." You stop and take a deep breath.

"You were? Worried…about me?" He sounds genuinely shocked, and you can't believe how sad it is that he thinks nobody cares about him.

"Yeah. Why? Does that shock you?" You smile at him, but it falls off your face quickly when you notice that he is looking down and not smiling. Not in the slightest. "Luka…"

You reach out a hand to touch his arm and that is all it takes. He crumbles before your very eyes. He slinks back to the wall and covers his face with his hands and you stand there in shock as he slides to the floor and his body quivers.

You approach him slowly, not quite sure how to treat this situation. Then you decide to throw caution the wind and sit beside him on the floor and gather his shaking form into your arms.

If there was any physical way for you to rock him back and fourth you would, but as your current position prevents it you settle for whispering soothing words to him and stroking his hair.

"Shh." You sooth. "Shhh. It's ok Luka. It's ok. We can fix it. I have you. I have you." You whisper in his ear.

You sit like that for a while. Talking to him, telling him that you will help him through this. You tell him that he doesn't need to worry any more because you are there. It takes a while but his sobs slow until he has cried himself into an exhausted sleep. You watch him for a while, but eventually you decide all that you can do is close your eyes and hold him and pray that in the morning you will figure out how to save this drowning mans life.

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So far this is a one shot...but I could be persuaded to write a sequel...I'm not sure, I will have to see where the mood takes me. 


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